Caged Wolf
by Wolken
Summary: Altaïr has gotten the task to take care of a wounded Templar so he can be questioned later about any usefull information. He hates taking care of the paranoid Sibrand. But after taking care of the Templar, Al Mualim decides that he won't kill Sibrand . And Altaïr is the one to make Sibrand into a mere slave, a warning sign to the other Templars
1. Chapter 1

A person covered in blood laid on the marble floor, only if someone looked closely he could see that the person was still breathing although troubled. Standing next was a man wearing a white robe, stained with blood but not his.

They weren't the only ones in the room, there was an elder man behind a desk a few meters in front of them. It took a while before that man looked up from his paperwork. ''And what is it what you bring me?'' he said, looking down in disgust on the wounded man.

''A templar, he was behaving suspiciously in the village and tried to break into the castle.'' The man in the robe replied. Al Mualim sighed and looked down at the papers again. ''Kill him and get rid of the body'' The person shifted weight from one leg to the other before opening his mouth again to speak. ''Maybe… we could get useful information out of him? I had planned to kill him when he tried to break in but he's clearly of a high rank, maybe an officer.''  
The old man looked up again, thinking about it. Information was always useful and it wasn't really ordinary that some templar was stupid enough to try to break into a castle full of assassins, what was he looking for? But when looking at him, he barely seemed conscious after the encounter with an assassin, he wouldn't be able to answer any questions at an investigation just yet.

It would take at least a few days before they could ask any questions. And giving someone the task to babysit a Templar was similar to punishing someone. Then Al Mualim thought of Altaïr. He had been impatient and imprudent, taking care of a wounded Templar would be part of his punishment.  
''Throw him in the dungeons and get Altaïr'' he said shortly before resuming to his work.

Growling a few not so nice words, Altaïr descended down the stairs of the dungeons. Great, just great. He was the one who had to take care of the Templar who had tried to break into the castle. He wasn't a nanny! But he had little other choice now he had been degraded to a novice.  
It reminded him of the time when he had been locked up in these dungeons for a whole month. It was dark, cold and lonely. Not a place someone would like to go to. The first time he stepped out of the dungeons again, the bright sunlight had blinded him but at least he was out of the cell. And he had luckily never been back behind those bars.

In his left hand a bucket of water and in his right clean bandages, he made his way to the cell where the Templar was locked up. Altaïr was sure he was going to need bandages when he found out who had discovered him, Zafer. It could be that the man had died of bloodless already because Zafer wasn't the best student in making a clean kill.  
It was dark in the corridors, only one single torch lit the cell from the outside. Altaïr could see a figure laying in it but not much else. When he turned the key in the lock there was some movement and a few growled words. He walked inside and put the bandages and bucket next to the straw bag before grabbing the wounded man by his upper arms and dragging him towards the bag. The sound from the man was no longer quiet but yelped like a dog, clearly in pain.

Altaïr dropped him down a bit too rough and dipped a piece of cloth in the water, wiping away blood from his face. The skin of the captured Templar was pale, even though it was dark here Altaïr could see that. Next was taking care of the wounds. With a knife Altaïr quickly cut open the cloth covering the man's chest, back and arms.  
At that, it seemed like some life returned to the Templar, he started struggling and tried to push him away. But Altaïr was far too irritated for resistance now, he wasn't going to negotiate with an Templar. He grabbed his hair and roughly pulled him back. ''Stop it'' he snarled at him, not even knowing if the man knew any of his language. But the message should be clear.

The Templar had several stab wounds and a few bruises. Altaïr sat down on his back and pinned the Templars arms down with his feet to make sure he wouldn't move while stitching the wound on his right shoulder.  
He was still fighting against him but not as powerful as in the beginning, either he was realizing that Altaïr was helping him or he was too exhausted to continue. After taking care of the injuries and washing away most of the blood, he let go of the prisoner and got back on his feet. The Templar had passed out. ''Pathetic'' Altaïr huffed, grabbing the stuff and walking out of the cell.

It wasn't until the guards were replaced and the darkness had covered the land with a thick black blanket when Altaïr returned. He was practically forbidden to leave the castle for more than a few hours, grounded until the captive had gotten well or died. When either of those things happened, he would be free to leave again, maybe even get some assassination missions. But if the Templar lived, Al Mualim would be far happier than if he died, if the former happened Altaïr would maybe be able to leave the rank of novice. But there was little hope that the heart continued beating, Zafer had almost drained all the blood out of the pale man.

This time he had some food and water with him. It wasn't normal to be kind to a Templar but they still needed the man for information. So the work he was doing was useless and at the same time necessary. The figure was sitting against the wall, watching every move Altaïr made.  
Altaïr resisted the urge to turn around and leave the dungeons again, those filthy Templars didn't care about any hygiene and it could even be smelled from a few meters away. But for a recovery he had to eat and drink. It wasn't much, just some water and bread.

The metal barred door opened and he stepped inside. The Templar tensed up, pushing his back against the wall, glaring at him, like any moment Altaïr could kill him. The bread he kept hidden in his pocket but the cup of water was gazed at thirsty by the prisoner.  
Altaïr had an idea, he held the cup of water in front of the injured man but when he reached for it, the Syrian pulled it back again, out of reach. An irritated expression appeared on the mans face when he again tried to grab it and again failed. Altaïr held it just out of his reach by a few inches when he asked the man a question. ''Name?'' he asked.  
But the man kept quiet like a mute, only staring at the water, his lips dry and cracked. This man was either too stupid to understand what Altaïr was asking or just stubborn. Altaïr had a bit difficulty guessing which one it was. He repeated the question once more, this time pointing at the man.

''Fuck off and give me the water'' the Templar growled with a hoarse dry throat. So the man did speak his language, although with a heavy Northern accent. Altaïr wasn't happy with this rude reply and did a step back, bringing the cup to his own mouth, knowing how desperately the man wanted the water.  
His Adam's apple went up and down his throat as he drank the water, looking at the man from the corner of his eye. His face went from being irritated and angry to pure desperation. He jumped up and tried to grab the cup, the Syrian was just a bit quicker, stepped away and the man missed, stumbling over his feet.

Altaïr grabbed him in his neck and pushed him roughly against the bars, not letting him go or moving an inch. ''Name'' he repeated again, keeping the cup close to the mans face. It was quiet for another few moments and just as he thought he should just drink the rest of the water and leave, to try again in another few hours, the man replied. ''Sibrand''

His grip eased and he released the man, handing him the cup still half full with water. The Templar drank it greedily, a few drops spilling onto the floor. When Altaïr thought he had drunken enough, he pulled the cup out of his hands and emptied the cup on the floor. He would have given the Templar all of the water, he wasn't cruel especially not because it was so hot outside now, but the man hadn't really been very polite to him by refusing to answer anything and trying to jerk the cup out of his hands.  
The glare the Templar gave him was beyond angry, for spilling the water. But when Altaïr pulled the bread in front of his nose, he was immediately focused on the food again, with an occasional suspicious glare to the Syrian. ''Do you want it?'' Altaïr asked taunting, waving it in front of his face.  
The man again didn't answer but the look from his eyes was clear. ''Where are the other Templars?'' he asked, hoping to gain some information from the Templar now, everything he could know now was better than later. Fresh information was the most useful information.

''Poisoned'' The Syrian didn't understand for a moment, was the man claiming that the other Templars had been poisoned? But the next sentence made it more clear. ''That bread is poisoned and the water probably too'' There was a slight panic visible in the eyes of the man, his face turning even paler than it normally was.  
Did he really think that Altaïr was trying to poison him? The Assassin grinned at the ridiculous idea of the captive. ''And why would I poison the water if I drank from it myself?'' he asked. The man didn't reply but he still seemed sure about his ideas. ''The bread is!'' he snarled back, stepping away from Altaïr. ''Why would I poison you?'' the Syrian defended himself. ''Because you are an Assassin, a man without honor''

Something snapped in Altaïr at hearing that, his fist made contact with the mans stomach, he was lucky that he didn't have his wrist knife on or that man would have been sliced open like a pig for a banquet. The Templar doubled over, coughing and gasping.  
The Syrian slammed the door behind him, taking the bread with him. ''Well, I just assume you're not hungry then'' he said, his voice again calm like normally. Pacing out of the dungeons, he was still a bit angry. Killing Templars had never been the problem, but now having to keep one alive was just proving to be very, very difficult. He couldn't wait until the man was healed enough to be questioned.


	2. Chapter 2

It would be a boring day again, Altaïr was sure about that. Taking care of him while others could leave and do whatever they wanted to do. But this time he would do it differently. Not because he couldn't get a wounded Templar down on his knees, no if someone failed to do that he wasn't even worth it to be called an Assassin. But the risk of reopening the wounds if the man struggled was just too big, a fight could set the healing process back for days.  
The Templar was still asleep, Altaïr could hear faint snoring. He slammed the door open, metal clanging against each other. The prisoner jolted awake, looking confused around him and stopping at Altaïr. ''You…'' he growled angrily, sitting up.

With a smile, the Syrian stepped inside, locking the cell door again. ''Are we going to continue like last time or not?'' he asked, on purpose not telling when last time was. Inside of the dungeons, you had no idea which day it was, even if it was day or night. The month that he had spend here had felt like a year. It was a tactic to break someone.  
And like yesterday, the man kept quiet, looking stubbornly at him. Altaïr held the cup sloping, a few drops of water falling down. The man licked his lips thirsty. ''Okey'' he growled finally, not wanting to spill any water that he could drink.

Altaïr immediately kept the cup upright again. ''First, you'll come here and let me treat your wounds without struggling, then you can have some water'' The man stood up from the straw bag, taking small steps towards him, ready to jump away if the Syrian would try to kill him. When he finally stood in front of him, Altaïr placed his hand on his shoulder and tried to push him down, not too roughly yet but firmly enough to make clear what he wanted.  
But the man refused, trying to shake his hand of his shoulder, again trying to grab the cup. The Syrian was having none of that, water splashing out of the cup as he quickly pulled it away. His foot he hooked behind the knee of the prisoner, pulling forward and effectively making the Templar fall down on his knee, although a bit harder than if he had done it voluntary.

''Are you stupid? I thought I told you no grabbing last time!'' Altaïr snarled, having his fingers tangled in the man's hair to keep him down. The man reached up and grabbing the Assassins wrist to prevent any more additional pain. ''Why should I care, you're just going to kill me either way!'' Altaïr sighed deeply, that man was just too stupid to realize that it would have no purpose killing him now, only after they had gotten the information he would become useless.  
''Then tell me why I've patched you up and brought you water?'' shaking his hand roughly from the left to the right. The man just made some muffled sounds of pain. ''Now you're going to sit quietly and I'm going to tend to those wounds. If you dare to move again, I'll tie you up'' The man said no word but his quietness meant most likely a yes.  
Altaïr let go of his hair and did a step forward to check on the back of the Templar, the most injured area. The prisoner surely hadn't seen Zafer coming because the first stab had been in his shoulder, if the man would live long enough to see the wound heal, it would always be marked by a bad and big scar.

He removed the bandages, washed the blood away with a wet cloth and got a small bottle from his robe. For a moment, he just looked at it. Someone had obtained it after finding a deserted Templar house, it was forbidden to drink for any muslim but the Templars didn't have that rule. Altaïr had heard of the medicinal working of the liquid, it could prevent wounds from getting infected. The Syrian had never tried it before, but the prisoner was the ideal guinea pig, if it didn't work, no problem, if it did work, useful for the next time Altaïr got injured.

He opened the bottle and poured the liquid inside of it over the wound. The reaction was instant, the man let out an animalistic scream in pain and pushed Altaïr away with force, getting back on his feet. The Assassin was a bit surprised by the reaction, he hadn't used all the liquid yet and he carefully dropped some of the stuff on his own hand if it really hurt that much. It didn't seem much else than water, except for the smell.

Maybe it was like salt? Only this stuff could clean wounds up. Altaïr scratched this stuff from his list of things he could use when injured, any sound would certainly give his hidespot away. Even if he prevented screaming, a muffled sound could just be enough.  
The prisoner stood in front of him, his back pressed against the metal bars, looking down at the Syrian with a ferocious glare in his eyes. The Assassin raised from the floor, walking forward. He remembered his own words, no moving or I'll tie you up. He wasn't sure whether to do that or not. Sure, Sibrand had broken the rule, but couldn't it be excepted after that unexpected amount of pain, if the Templar wasn't whining?  
Altaïr closed the bottle again, not that it was to any use, the thing was empty now but he wanted to make clear he wasn't going to do that again. ''Get down'' he said, his voice still calm but demanding.

Sibrand didn't make a move, his chest going up and down with every breath he took. ''Down now, or must I help you again?'' Altaïr said, his voice more stern than before. Slowly, the Templar started moving, but he didn't look away from the Assassin, expecting another attempt to take his life any minute.  
The wound on his shoulder had started bleeding again, the liquid and the moving had surely made it worse. Carefully, Altaïr wrapped it up again after checking the stitches. The other wounds still seemed okey and he was done rather quickly. During the whole checking, the man was tensed and ready to get away. ''You can get up now'' he said, taking the cup and handing it over to the prisoner, who drank it quickly.  
Next, he got the piece of bread. ''If you want it, you better answer some questions'' maybe last time he had been a bit too quick with asking important questions like where the other Templars were. Ofcourse he wouldn't betray them just like that. Altaïr decided to start with some easier questions. ''Which country do you come from?'' he asked, ripping off a piece of bread.

''Germany'' the sound of it was barbaric, like the Templars actions and the voice who said the word wasn't really nice either, but Sibrand had answered. The Syrian handed him the piece of food which was wolfed down in a matter of seconds, making sure Altaïr couldn't take it away from him again.  
Another piece was held in front of his face. ''How old are you?'' The man opened his mouth to answer but at the same time looked confused. 'Tw…two…'' The Templar didn't seem to know the words. He finally gave up trying to say the number, he just showed his hands two times and seven fingers.  
''Twentyseven'' Altaïr said, giving him another piece. It wasn't very useful information but at least it was some. The next question could be a bit more useful. ''Which city did you come from? I mean not in Gemaji but here.'' The country's name was still too difficult for the Syrian to pronounce. It took a lot longer for Sibrand to reply this time, but his grumbling stomach finally made the decision. ''Acre''  
Altaïr handed him the rest of the bread before leaving the cell. The key turned in the lock, leaving the German alone again. Altaïr went straight up the stairs, out of the dungeons when he bumped into Zafer.

''You could at least have injured him less badly, it will take days and days before he's recovered enough to be investigated. '' Altaïr scolded him on a calm tone, Zafer was still years younger than him but also a novice. Zafer just smiled dumbly. ''Got anything out of him yet?'' he grinned, expecting the Templar to be still half unconscious. But getting an answer was not what Zafer was expecting. Altaïr smiled back. ''Yes, actually I have. He's from Acre and I got his name'' The expression changed from Zafers face. ''That's all you could get from him?'' he said after recovering himself. ''Wait until the investigation, I'll squeeze every last drop of information out of him. It'll be easy, if he was already screaming like that, he surely can't handle any pain at all''

Altaïr knew what they were planning to do, wait until the Templar was healed enough, then torture him until they got every information they needed and let him bleed to death or just throw him off the castle walls. The future of Sibrand wasn't looking really bright and extremely short.


	3. Chapter 3

It took several days before the Templar was recovered enough to be questioned. Most of those days, Altaïr was only possible to treat his wounds by bribing Sibrand with food and water. It took a lot of his patience not to lose it and injury the man any further.  
Till so far, it seemed that the Templar didn't know what was awaiting him, or he wasn't showing this knowledge. He did however asked a few times when he was going to released, maybe expecting to be exchanged for money or Assassin prisoners with the Templars. The Syrian kept his mouth shut about any of that, actually to most questions that Sibrand asked him.

In the past few days, Altaïr had gathered more and more information. He knew that Sibrand had gotten orders to get intelligence about the Assassins but because it was very secret, he had to do it himself instead of ordering one of the soldiers to do it. Sibrand hadn't known for what he was looking, he was just told to figure out how hard or easy it was to get into the castle and how many people there were around there. He was supposed to write every information on a piece of paper and give it to the messenger that would come three days later.

Well, not all of this information was gathered by bribing, a part of it was due to smart talking, trying to lure the other into revealing details about his failed attempt to break in. Of course the Syrian had given all the information to Al Mualim. But he still deemed it to be necessary to question the prisoner.  
And today was that day. Altaïr had heard it last night from him, to get the Templar ready and to one of the deepest and darkest parts of the dungeons. That morning, he was up early to go to the cells, Sibrand was still asleep. For a very short moment, Altaïr felt a bit of pity for the man who was still completely oblivious to what would happen to him in just a matter of hours.

In all those years, he had never had problems with killing someone, just someone without knowing their story or life. No more than walking targets. But after a few days he had learned to know the Templar, although he was still rude and a Templar, his father had taught him always to kill quickly and without any additional pain. 'Questioning' a prisoner didn't follow that code. The Syrian was really starting to think that Sibrand had told them everything about the break in, that it wasn't necessary to torture him.  
But what Al Mualim said was practically the same to the law and even Altaïr didn't tore to that. For today, he hadn't brought any bread of medical supplies, that wouldn't be useful. But when opening the cell, he started to doubt that, Sibrand was surely notice the change and maybe start to panic. And panicked people were dangerous, it would be a lot easier to get him to walk to the torture chambers without any problems.

The blue eyed man looked up from the straw bed, frowning slightly when he got handed the cup without having to answer a load of questions. But he quickly drank from it. After about three days, he had given up that possibility of Altaïr poisoning him. He still believed that some other Assassin would kill him somehow, even the Syrian but only not by poison.

A while after drinking the water and looking at Altaïr over the edge of the cup, he opened his mouth. ''Where's the bread?'' he asked, his voice again full of suspicion. The Syrian shook his head, water is what the German needed, food would only make him throw up. ''Not today'' his short reply sounded.  
The Assassin was still standing at the door, making no attempt to check the injuries. Sibrand was starting to notice something was really off today. Altaïr took the cup back and turned around to leave again. He was almost out when the Templar spoke up. ''Assassin, what's going on?'' he asked, his voice cold but at the same time a small shiver in it, as if he already knew the answer.

The Syrian stopped. It would be so much easier if Sibrand was still calm when transported to that part of the dungeon. He had to think of an excuse. ''The well is almost dry, water is only for drinking now, not for bread and not for cleaning wounds''  
It was a pathetic lie, there was always more than one well to get water from and if there was a shortage, any prisoners would be the first ones to get less or no water at all. But the Templar seemed to believe it.

It would be better to take the Templar there straight away before his mind figured the truth out. Altaïr took a rope, hanging on the opposite side of the corridor and walked back into the cell. The German took a step back, confused and suspicious.  
Altaïr went towards him, feeling like he had to catch a startled horse. ''Calm down, Templar. You're just going outside to help the villagers dig a new well'' he said, while tying his hands together, holding the end of the rope in his own hand. With a piece of cloth, he effectively blinded the prisoner, who started to panic because of that.  
He froze on the spot, not moving anymore, trying to reach up with his hands to pull the cloth away from his eyes. ''Your eyes aren't used to sunlight anymore'' Altaïr said to give the reason why blinding him. ''They won't get used to it either if you blind me'' Sibrand snarled with a bit of fear for the unknowing.  
Instead of continuing to talk, Altaïr tugged on the rope, just hard enough to make the Templar walk a few hesitant steps. Making sure the German wouldn't walk into something, he looked over his shoulder every few meters.  
-

Without having his hands free and not able to see anything, Sibrand was dependent on Altaïr. It seemingly unnerved him, taking careful steps after testing the ground under it.  
His world was black, the only thing that kept him moving was the raffled rope around his wrists. As many times as he tried to get the cloth away, as many times he failed doing so. He didn't trust the Assassin, he could kill him any moment. It actually surprised him that he hadn't already. Until now, everything seemed to be okey, he got food and water and his injuries were taken care off.  
But this time, he had only gotten water and the excuses the Syrian was making weren't really good ones. Sibrand wasn't sure what the man was up to yet, but the news of getting outside again was great news. He couldn't wait to be out of this dark dungeon.

It seemed like it was getting colder, he didn't feel the warmth on his skin of the sun and he didn't hear voices. Strange, if there was a well that had to be made, he assumed there had to be at least 10 other men. His pace slowed down until the tug on the rope stopped. For a moment he thought he was alone, that the Assassin had released the rope and abandoned him in the middle of nowhere, tied up and blinded. A small bit of panic went through his veins, just before hearing a door open and the rope was tugged again.  
''Where are we going?'' he asked, not sure why he wasn't outside yet. It seemed like the way back was a lot longer than the way in. The Syrian wasn't answering but Sibrand could hear him breathing. Then there were footsteps towards the place they were coming from, the Assassin was walking away. When the German tried to follow him, he noticed that the rope was tied up to something. ''Where are you going?'' his next question sounded, a bit higher than normal.

He managed to pull the blindfold off and could just see the Syrian walking the last few paces towards the door, starting to close it. Just before the last bit of light disappeared, Sibrand heard the now familiar voice of the Assassin. ''May your God have mercy on your soul'' the words cut like cold daggers through the air, just before the door closed, leaving Sibrand alone in the unknown dark place.


	4. Chapter 4

The moment that the door closed, Altaïr heard a yell, in anger and fear, from the Templar. It would take at least another hour or two before Al Mualim and the torturer would come but it was better that Sibrand was there already. Altaïr had managed to get him there just before he figured out what was going to happen.

While the Syrian walked back through the dungeons, towards the exit, he could hear the voice from the German die away in the distance. He wondered how much information they would get out of him. In a few hours he would be the one responsible for disposing the body.

Walking back through the corridors of the castle, Altaïr saw the torturer heading for Al Mualims quarters. Before the man could open his mouth to say something, Altaïr beat him to it. ''He's already there'' the man nodded before resuming his way. Altaïr didn't really like the man, mostly because it was the same man who cut of his right ringfinger to make his hand fit for the secret blade.

Hours later, Altaïr returned to the castle after spending the whole afternoon in the village. It had been a while since he had last been there and it was good to not have to worry about taking care of the Templar anymore.

He had given the undertaker the money to dig a grave where he would dump the body when it was dark, about a mile out of the village. The sun was lowering, almost touching the horizon. Altaïr saddled one of the horses and went back to the dungeons to get the body.

But when going there, the body wasn't just beside the exit. Altaïr frowned, maybe they had just left it in the dungeons. While entering the dark corridors, he remembered the panicked yelling from that morning. It seemed like he was still hearing it.

While walking, it turned out that it wasn't his memory but that there were real voices. Altaïr wasn't really looking forward to interrupting the torture, both because it wasn't a really pretty sight and because Al Mualim wouldn't be very happy. But it would become really dark in just a hour or two and Altaïr wanted to arrive at the grave before it was too dark to find it, or even worse make the horse trip in it.

But when walking towards the cell where Sibrand was for the past days, he saw Zafer leaning on the wall outside of the cell, looking at Altaïr. The Syrian frowned, why would Zafer be here? His clothes were covered in blood. Then Altaïr heard a muffled moan in pain from the cell and a few voices.

''He's alive?'' he said a bit surprised. Zafer nodded and did a step towards Altaïr. ''Al Mualim decided to spare his miserable life'' his voice was full of hate and he spat towards the cell. Altaïr looked through the metal bars and saw two guards plus a doctor in the cell. Sibrand was on the ground, held down by the guards while the doctor treated his injuries.

The faint smell of blood hang in the air. Altaïr could see cuts in his skin, mostly small cuts just to inflict as much pain as possible without making him loose too much blood to make him pass out in a few minutes. Red burns littering his arms and legs, while bloody welts covered his back.

The doctor had his hands full of taking care of these injuries. Altaïr turned around to Zafer. ''Why did he let him live?'' he asked, there was no reason to let the Templar live and suffer. Zafer was again leaning against the wall, clearly bored and irritated. ''Because Al Mualim wanted to make an example out of him for those other bastards'' Altaïr didn't always agree with Al Mualim, like this time. This could be considered cruelty. If you wanted to make an example for the rest of the Templars, why not deliver his head back to his commander?

''How much did he tell?'' Altaïrs next question was. After a faint grin, Zafer talked. ''Not a word more than he told you. It seemed it was the truth that he didn't knew anything more but better be safe than sorry, right?''

Another sound of pain escaped from the cell, Altaïr turned around to walk out of the dungeons. Just as he reached the end of the corridor, the Assassin leaning on the wall spoke up. ''Ey, don't walk away just like that. He's your responsibility and property from now on. He's yours''

It seemed like Al Mualim wasn't done with either of them. The Templar had to live through his recovery and Altaïr would be stuck until the day Sibrand died with a slave he didn't want.

Altaïr always traveled alone, his job was to assassinate people, not to babysit someone who would just alarm the targets, by accident or by purpose, and slow him down. He had to convince Al Mualim to either kill the Templar or give him to someone else. Altaïr had a lot of work to do before he would regain his original rank. After putting the horse back in the stables, he headed straight for the office of Al Mualim.

''What am I supposed to do with him?'' was his first question. The man thought several moments, putting a few papers back in a drawer before answering. ''Whatever you want to except killing him. '' the last part he wisely added. ''I've no need for him'' Al Mualim sat back down in his chair and looked at the irritated Altaïr.

''That's not the point. The point is that those Templars learn their places. And you must relearn patience by training the Templar. If you hadn't been that impatient, Kadar would still be alive'' Altaïr wanted to say something but Al Mualim raised his hand to make clear he shouldn't speak. ''Silence, you shouldn't question me. Now, leave. Tomorrow you will go to Jerusalem and assassinate Talal. By the time you returned, the Templar will have recovered.''

The castle appeared in the distance, after a long travel Altaïr had returned to Masyaf. He had no idea if Sibrand was still alive or died from blood loss. After handing over his horse to one of the stable hands, he headed towards the dungeons.

Sibrand was in the corner of the cell, curled up, probably asleep. His arms were wrapped in bandages. Altaïr opened the cell, while keeping his eyes on Sibrand, not sure how to wake him up.

Sibrand was woken by footsteps in the corridors. For the past few days, footsteps always meant bad news, always pain. He could still remember that day, he should never had trusted the Assassin, he shouldn't have believed his words. Of course the well wasn't dry, nothing than nonsense. Those last words had freaked him out. May your God have mercy on your soul.

Sibrand had been sure that he would die that day, that they would either starve him to death or kill him instantly. He had tried to escape the ropes around his wrists, but he was stuck, he had no idea when he again heard footsteps but it had seemed like ages.

It wasn't the Assassin who had taken care of his injuries for the last days but two other men, one he vaguely remembered when he was just recently captured. The other one he had never seen before. They were speaking in a local dialect which Sibrand couldn't understand but it was sure that it was no good.

The pain. The pain had been excruciating. Sibrand was sure the whole castle must have heard his screaming. He had barely known anything, there hadn´t been much useful information he could give them. But they wouldn´t believe him that he knew nothing else, they kept torturing him, hoping for any new information.

After what seemed like days of torture and pain, they stopped. Sibrands voice was gone, he had screamed that much and loud that his vocal cords refused to work anymore. His throat felt like it was one fire but that was the least of his problems right now.

He had expected it to be finally over, to be released from his pain. But no, they decided to let him live. It took two guards to keep him down while the doctor tried to undo the damage done by the torturing. From that day on, footsteps were the bad omen of more pain, either guards beating him just because they hated Templars or the doctor under the excuse of trying to heal his wounds.

Sibrand kept his eyes close, maybe they would leave him alone for just one day if they thought he was asleep. A futile hope but it was better than nothing. It surprised him when he saw the Assassin. From between his eyelashes, he could see the man closing in on him. It took a while before he did something to wake him up, rather roughly by kicking him in the ribs.

It hurt, the Syrian kicked him right on one of the burns inflicted by the red-hot metal of the torturer. Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes of pain, but he refused to open them . ´´Leave me alone´´ he growled angrily. Sibrand had no idea why they had kept him alive this time, hopefully not to torture him again, he really didn´t know anything else.

The Assassin crouched down and put something in front of him before leaving the cell, locking it and walking away. Curious about what it was, Sibrand opened his eyes and looked at the stuff placed in front of him. It was a cup of water and some bread.


End file.
